User blog:Squibstress/Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) - Chapter 6
Title: Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; character death Published: 02/06/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Author’s Notes: This is the fourth instalment of my series chronicling the life of Minerva McGonagall. The poem in chapter two is Thomas Lovell Beddoes’s “Song of the Stygian Naiades” (1835). The poem in chapter thirteen is “Maud” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1855). Chapter Six “Mr Crowley, please to remember your wand is not a Beater’s bat; you are perfectly capable of Transfiguring that hedgehog without striking the poor creature about the head,” Professor McGonagall said. She sighed to herself. The fall term was only two weeks old, and she had already sent the fourth-year Hufflepuff to the infirmary three times with a variety of burns, cuts, and one alarming case of eyebrow mange. She wasn’t at all sure how she would get the poor boy through his O.W.L.s, even if they were a full year and a half away. Just as class was wrapping up, she said, “Homework is two rolls of parchment on the role of intention in inter-species Transfiguration. On my desk Thursday, no excuses. Miss Chattergee, unless you’d like to discuss the contents of that note with me over detention this evening, I suggest you wait until you are outside my classroom to open it.” As the students were filing out, Professor Lemmas entered the classroom. When the last student had gone, Minerva said, “Yes, Diophantus, what can I do for you?” The Arithmancy professor looked a bit uncomfortable, which gave her an inkling of what he was there to ask. “Minerva, do you think you could speak to Molly Prewett for me? I think she may have a … um …” “Female problem?” asked Minerva, her eyebrow arched in amusement. Over the years, Minerva had often been called on by Professors Flitwick, Slughorn, and Lemmas, the three male Heads of House, to assist in sorting out certain problems with the females in their charge. These had ranged from helping twelve- and thirteen-year-olds navigate the onset of menstruation to older girls’ boy problems, and on one particularly awful occasion, a confession from a terrified sixteen-year-old that her father had been molesting her for years. “Yes,” said Professor Lemmas. “Of course, Diophantus. Ask her to meet me in my office after classes end for the day. Unless you think it can’t wait?” “No, no. After classes should be fine. Thank you, Minerva,” he said. She nodded, and he left in a cloud of relief. At four-thirty came the timid knock on Minerva’s office door. “Enter,” she called. The door opened, and in walked a short, auburn-haired girl of seventeen, head down and eyes red. “Molly, thank you for seeing me,” Minerva said, using the girl’s given name in an effort to put her more at ease. “Professor Lemmas seems to believe you have a problem. Can you discuss it with me?” she asked, discreetly pushing a package of tissues toward the edge of the desk. “Oh, Professor …” began the girl, her hands wringing the edges of her robe. “I c … c … can’t …” she said and started crying. “Nonsense. Of course you can. Whatever it is, Molly, I’m here to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t confide in me,” said Minerva. The girl still sat sobbing, so Minerva came out from around the desk and Summoned an extra chair next to the one Molly had plopped down in. Minerva sat and took Molly’s hands. Molly’s wet, red eyes looked pleadingly into Minerva’s. “I think I might be … pregnant,” she said, dropping her head again. Minerva closed her eyes, the first pinpricks of a headache forming behind them. She had heard this confession before on a handful of occasions, of course, but she would never have expected it from this quarter. Molly Prewett was a sweet, very smart girl—one with a temper to match Minerva’s—who was being raised by her two older brothers after the accidental death of her parents five years earlier. If she was indeed pregnant, the hot-headed Prewett brothers would be out for the blood of the boy responsible. The girl’s sobbing was getting louder. Minerva took her hand and helped her up. “Come, Molly. Let’s go into my sitting room. You’ll be more comfortable there, and we can talk.” She led Molly through a door behind a bookcase that she had opened using wandless magic. It was rare for Minerva to invite a student into her private quarters, but in her experience, there were occasions when a less intimidating location than her office was called for. She sat the weeping girl down on her settee and took a seat next to her, conjuring a tartan handkerchief and silently handing it to Molly. When the latest burst of sobs had calmed, Minerva spoke gently. “Now, Molly. What makes you think you might be pregnant? Are you late?” she asked. “Late?” said Molly, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “Yes. Your period—is it late?” “No.” “Then what is it?” “I … I did something,” Molly said, on the verge of tears again. “You and Mr Weasley?” coaxed Minerva. “Y … yes. I’m sorry, Professor.” Molly began to cry again. “Calm down, Molly, please. What’s done is done. Forgive me, but were you unsafe? Did you not use a contraceptive charm?” Minerva asked. “A charm?” asked Molly, still confused. “Yes. To prevent conception.” “No … I didn’t know …” Minerva sighed. Of course she didn’t. The girl had no mother to tell her, and it was a near certainty her brothers hadn’t bothered. I must speak to Albus about giving some kind of talk to the girls, Minerva said to herself. Not that the Board of Governors would approve, she thought sourly. “How long ago did this happen, Molly?” she asked. “Saturday night.” “But that’s only two days ago. Why would you think you were pregnant after only two days?” Minerva asked, the germ of a suspicion starting to grow. “Because I let Arthur touch me.” Molly sniffled, unable to look at her professor. “Touch you … how?” “Here,” Molly said, bringing her hand to her breast. “I see. And what else?” “What do you mean?” asked the girl, shocked. “I mean, Molly, did you and Arthur do anything else you think might have made you pregnant?” asked Minerva with more patience than she felt. “No.” Minerva prevented an audible sigh from escaping her. “Molly, it takes more than a boy putting his hand on your breast to fall pregnant,” she said. Molly just looked at her blankly. “I think you and I need to have a talk. But I think I need some tea first. Would you like some?” Minerva asked. “Yes, please, Professor,” said Molly quietly. Minerva put some water into a pot, and after charming it to a near boil, she added the tea. When it had steeped, she brought it over to the tea table with a jar of milk, some sugar cubes, and some lemon. “How do you take it, Molly, dear?” she asked. When Minerva had finished explaining the mechanics of intercourse and conception to an increasingly pink Molly Prewett, the girl sat looking at her teacher in slack-jawed amazement. “Merlin’s balls!” she exclaimed, to Minerva’s amusement. What she said next nearly sent Minerva into gales of very unprofessional laughter. “Those bloody idiots!” cried Molly. “They told me … they told me … those imbeciles!” This was the Molly Prewett Minerva had come to know and like over the past six years. “As you know,” Minerva said, stifling her laughter, “brothers have a tendency to be overprotective when it comes to their younger sisters.” Once Molly had got over her initial shock, Minerva asked, “Is there anything you’d like to ask me, Molly? About what we’ve just talked about?” “Just how anyone could ever do that,” said Molly, more to herself than to Minerva. “It sounds so … ugh!” Minerva didn’t stop her gentle laugh this time. “Yes, well … I think you’ll find in time that the idea has its appeal.” Molly just stared at the unfamiliar creature sitting in front of her. This was not a Professor McGonagall she recognised. She was not cold and imposing; this one was warm and gentle, and if Molly wasn’t mistaken, entirely unfazed by the proposition of allowing a man to do that. “I doubt it,” replied Molly with a shudder. In years to come, Minerva would have occasion to remind Molly of her scepticism on that point. “You’ll just have to take my word for it, then. When the time is right, you’ll know it,” said Minerva. “Professor, have you ever …” Molly started, but stopped herself before finishing the question. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” “No, it isn’t,” said Minerva. “But Molly, promise me that when you change your mind, you’ll make sure of two things.” “What?” “One, that you’ll do it because you love the boy and you want to do it—not just because you think it’s what he wants, and two, that you’ll take appropriate measures to make sure you don’t end up with a baby before you’re ready for one.” Molly could not see how she was ever going to have a baby at all, given the requirements—even with Arthur. But she nodded her agreement at Professor McGonagall. “Good. Now, you’d best be getting back. It’s almost time for dinner.” “All right,” said Molly, standing. “Thank you, Professor. For everything.” Then she hugged Minerva, who, after a moment, put her arms around the girl and hugged back. “You’re quite welcome, my dear.” After Molly was gone, Minerva cleared away the tea things. As she did so, she thought to herself, I just might be good at this motherhood business after all. ← Back to Chapter 5 On to Chapter 7→ Category:Chapters of Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967)